


My Thoughts Are Dirty But His Welds Are Clean

by SashaDistan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dirty Talk, Fuck At First Sight, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gay Shiro (Voltron), Just the Tip, Keith Has Sensitive Nipples, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Horny, Pining Keith (Voltron), Power Bottom Keith (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has a Large Cock, Smut and Feels, Top Shiro (Voltron), Welder!Shiro, terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SashaDistan/pseuds/SashaDistan
Summary: tshiro has a giant roll of inclusive pride stickers, a job at a nondescript welding shop, a tiktok account, and an agenda to combat the heteronormative status-quo of his chosen profession.Keith has a rusty vintage motorcycle, the best uncles anyone could ask for, and a slight infatuation with a man who uses puns shamelessly and can bench press twice what Keith weighs. And now he needs a welding specialist.Or: The one where Shiro is an out-and-proud welder and Keith is really into the terrible puns he makes.
Relationships: Antok/Kolivan (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 272





	My Thoughts Are Dirty But His Welds Are Clean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seiteki9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiteki9/gifts).



> Thank you Sei for this awesome prompt! I had such fun writing this. So much fun!  
> For the curious, all this came about because of this tiktok [video](https://www.tiktok.com/@dandyman_candyman/video/6896930218741599494?lang=en). No I'm not sorry.

Keith knows it is ridiculous, but he can't help himself.

He knows that you cannot fall in lust or love or whatever kind of infatuation this is, just from someone's voice and right hand. But he has.

Oh, and one five second gym clip showing nothing but two arms – one with a magnetically weighted medical wristband – and the hint of swollen pecs beneath a taut neon pink shirt. It simply confirms that _tshiro_ – aggressively queer welder – can bench press nearly twice what Keith weighs.

Keith's knows so few personal details about the man, and why would he, because he doesn't know _tshiro_ : they aren't friends. He’s just someone Keith discovered on tiktok at four in the morning, when his brain had decided he no longer needed to be asleep despite being unreasonably tired.

 _t_ _shiro’s_ rant about the ongoing sticker war at his welding shop only makes Keith more awake as he stifled his laughter with his fist. An hour later, Keith finds himself hooked, watching _tshiro_ count through random items he appears to own in excessive numbers.

“So, this video would be called ‘things at nondescript welding shop, things which I have many more than one of’,” _tshiro_ says, as he walks across the now-familiar concrete floored space of the workshop. “I have many squares.” He counts a huge variety of differently sized engineering squares set out on his bench. “And they’re all called ‘Candy’.” Keith cannot explain why this has him in fits of giggles, stifled by his own pillow. “And then there’s tape, tape, gay tape-” This is the roll of five-hundred inclusive pride flag stickers. “-grey tape, pink tape. Huh, that sounds kind of good, right? One of you smart digital people should make a mash-up vid or something out of that. Set it to music.”

A few clips later, and _tshiro’s_ right hand is pointing to an on-screen link where someone has done just that. Keith saves the rest of the videos for later and finally crashes back into unconsciousness with ‘gay tape, grey tape, tape-tape-tape, gay tape’ reverberating around his skull.

He dreams of searing bright sparks and a hot shirtless dude in an iron man welding mask, and wakes up sweaty with his morning wood trying to poke a hole in his boxers. Keith groans in despair as his uncle calls down the hallway to tell him that breakfast is ready. ‘Hard’ does not even begin to cover the struggle Keith has with getting dressed.

Four months and dozens of re-watches of _tshiro’s_ entire tiktok stream later, Keith knows he is head-over-boots in some kind of fantasy lust with the out-and-proud welder who says exactly what he thinks. And he calls the rack where he stores his hammers the _polyhammery_.

“Earth to Keith…”

“I’m awake.” Keith stuffs his phone hastily back into his jeans pocket as his uncles arrive at the table. “Do you need help with- oh…”

Kolivan actually buries is head in his husband’s shoulder, chest shaking in mirth.

“I told you he’d forgotten,” Antok says as he rests his free hand on Keith’s shoulder, depositing the cake onto the table in front of him. “Happy birthday, little Kit.”

“Can we still call him that now he’s twenty-one?” Kolivan asks as he recovers from his attack of the giggles. He slides into his usual chair with a stack of three plates and a cake knife. “Are you too grown up for cake?”

The cake is four tiers high; thick red velvet sponge and sandwiched with moist cream cheese frosting and flecked with vanilla. There is a candle on the top. Keith very nearly drools. Antok laughs as he sits down opposite his husband.

“I think you can still cut him a big slice.” Keith ducks when his uncle makes to ruffle his hair, but no one can escape Antok’s big hands and long reach. “He’ll always be our little Kit.” Antok pulls him close and kisses the top of his head. Keith blushes – it makes him feel like a kid again, meeting his estranged uncles after a year in the foster system – but he knows he would never shrug off the easy affection they have built together.

“Eat Keith. Then you can have your other present.”

*

“OK, so I don’t know who I’m showing this to exactly, not like anyone is going to be watching me, but look. Isn’t she pretty?” Keith pans the viewscreen on his phone over the beat up but still beautiful body of the vintage Royal Enfield Bullet. “I’m gonna call her Red.”

Keith chews his lip.

“It’s stupid to name a motorcycle, isn’t it? Well, restoring her is going to be my project. I’m so lucky to have family to teach me what to do. My uncles are the best.” He gives a thumbs up to the screen, pulling the focus from Red to his hand – complete with bitten cuticles and a dirt-stained pride wristband – and cuts the video.

“This is stupid,” he says to the empty garage. But he posts the video to his tiktok account regardless.

If nothing else, the videos will make a nice record of all the work he’s about to put in to make his new present roadworthy once more.

*

“Ambient temperature in the nondescript weld shop today?” _tshiro_ says, his breath fogging the view of his workstation, his folding lectern open to a diagram of something which looks remarkably like a trailer for a small boat. “Is a whopping three degrees. Yes, three, using the correct system of temperature measurement.”

Overlaid on the screen as he speaks is _c°rrect_ , and Keith shakes his head in despair. He mustn't tell Antok, because his uncle has a whole rant about how the metric system is so much better than the one Kolivan and Keith are used to. Keith knows he’ll have to convert it later, but it does indeed look cold in the weld shop.

“So today is going to be a day for these babies.” _tshiro’s_ right hand – gloved and fully sleeved with several layers – appears in the shot, holding a bright blue foil packet. “I’m not sponsored, but these hand warmers have totally saved my digits.” He brings the packet close to the screen, and it takes a beat to refocus on the text. _Dura Max Hand Warmers – stay warm on the inside_.

“And you know,” _tshiro’s_ voice takes on that deep, almost gloatingly flamboyant tone which makes Keith’s insides turn to mush, “I gotta get the supersized ones. That way everything matches.”

He snorts with undignified laughter at his own joke, and the video cuts.

Keith shoves his phone and his hands back in his pockets, grabs for his gloves, and whistles to Kosmo to go for walkies. The air outside is crisp and clear, and it’s nice to think that at least he and _tshiro_ share the weather.

*

“How goes progress?”

Keith pauses the recording on his phone, and turns as Kolivan bends to offer him a mug of hot black coffee. The handle of the mug is shaped like a wrench.

“I finally got the engine block reassembled.” Keith takes a grateful sip, gesturing with a faintly greasy hand towards the beautifully shiny device, which will hopefully purr like a happy lion when it eventually turns over. “Removed and cleaned every single screw and fitting in the entire thing.” He beams up at his uncle. “Just like you taught me.”

“That’s my boy.” Kolivan ruffles his hair fondly, and gestures to the phone. “Did I interrupt your call?”

“Just taking a video diary of the build.” Keith shuffles until he is pressed against his uncle’s shin. Antok often says that Keith and the giant wolf dog are basically the same, only Keith is fractionally less hairy. “Thank you, Kolivan.”

“Kit… you don’t have to keep thanking me.”

Keith clings even tighter to his uncle’s leg for a moment. His grip is as crushing and desperate as it was when he was ten years old, and he was just starting to trust the two men who were the only family he had left.

“Yeah, I do. I never expected something like this as a present. Not after everything you’ve already-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Keith.” Kolivan’s fingers slide through his hair once more, petting fondly, just the way he does with Kosmo. “We didn’t do anything more for you than you deserve. Not anything more than your Daddy would have done. Antok and I just did as best by you as we could. We tried not to screw up too badly when we didn’t understand how to help you with your Chemistry homework, or when we tried to give you a needlessly heterosexual version of the birds and bees.”

Keith groans. “Please, I have tried to bleach that memory from my mind so many times.”

“My point is, all we did is what family does, Kit. Because we love you. And this?” He gestures to the Enfield Bullet resting on its stand. “You’re the one who’s going to turn it into a decent present. We just gave you a rare – very rusty – vintage motorcycle that no one stocks parts for any more.” Kolivan’s laugh is rich and warm. “At best, it only qualifies as half a present.”

“Thanks, Koli.”

“Anytime Kit.” Kolivan steps away as Keith releases his hold. The tall man arches an eyebrow. “Also, your third spark plug is loose. Fix that.”

Keith stares at the rebuilt engine block, and curses when he sees that his uncle is right. The man taught him everything he knows about engines – which is a lot considering that Keith joined him as a fulltime mechanic after a year of community college – and Keith is never surprised when Kolivan finds his mistakes.

He tells as much to his low-traffic tiktok account, as he films his forearms fastening the spark plug properly in place. He could not be more grateful to his uncles for the life they’ve given him.

He finishes, wipes his hands, and uploads his video before taking Kosmo out to the yard to sniff around for all the fun scents. When his phone vibrates in his jeans pocket, he thinks nothing of it. He fishes it out just as it bleeps again.

New notifications for _KandK_rebuild_ :

 _tshiro_ liked video _engine.block.build_

 _tshiro_ followed you

Keith stares at his phone, only the desire not to have to pay for another replacement screen keeps his fingers from going slack. The guy he has basically stalked through his tiktok content has noticed him. Noticed him and… followed him? For his content? Keith has half a dozen videos of the Bullet in various states of disrepair, and one of Kosmo barrelling towards him for a running hug when Keith held up a treat.

What the fuck?

*

“So, an update on the continuing drama of Weld Shop Sticker Wars.” _tshiro_ says it in his dramatic voice, and on-screen sparkly rainbow coloured graphics spell out the words. “For those of you who are kind of new here or didn’t get the memo… I mean, yeah, the guys pull down my stickers and I put more up, but there’s no actual hate going on. They all know me and accept me-” the camera waggles as _tshiro_ shrugs, before he continues walking across to the big refrigerator in the shop break room with his roll of pride stickers in his other hand. “-and maybe they’re not super tolerant of things and people they still don’t understand. But I’m safe, it’s a good shop. No one here would harm anyone for being different.”

 _tshiro_ reaches the fridge and his broad fingers trace over the ripped remnants of the deliberately cheap and hard to remove inclusive pride stickers. He smooths his thumb over a few more new stickers, adding to the ever-growing pyramid of rainbow pride.

“See this one here? This was my favourite. Got it at the parade.” The sticker in question clearly used to be longer. The remaining letters are yellow, green, blue, and a hint of purple, and each is written underneath a differently shaped drinking glass. “It used to say ‘celebrate’, and well, you can see what it reads now.”

_BRAT_

Keith snorts into his hand at the exact same moment _tshiro_ does the same.

“I mean, it’s _subjectively_ funny. Because, you know.” Keith gets the feeling _tshiro_ is gesturing to himself, but none of them can see it. “Well, you’ll just have to trust me. Alrighty then, I gotta go. No _flux_ given around here!”

 _tshiro_ laughs at his own – objectively terrible – pun, and Keith sighs as the video ends. He presses the heart button – he always does – and pockets the phone before he can type anything too stupid. Keith does not need to leave a comment and let the guy know he’s been in-lust with him for close to half a year now.

He knows it’s ridiculous, but he can't help himself.

*

“Happy holidays Weld Cadets!”

Keith sighs contentedly and snuggles deeper into the nest he has created in the love seat. Kosmo has abandoned him in favour of sprawling upside down over the rug, his new marrowbone held lovingly between his fangs. Keith smiles at his phone.

“Happy holidays.” He knows it is stupid to whisper back to the pre-recorded video, but he can’t help it.

“So, I hope you’ve all got families and special people to be sharing your day with. Don’t let me interrupt lunch or any fancy board games, OK? I’m just taking a break whilst my parents wrangle the little ones, and then I get to go be the cool uncle again whilst both my brothers take a well-earned rest.”

Keith loves the idea of _tshiro_ covered in small children, them hanging off his bulging biceps with giggles and excited squeals of _more_ and _higher_. Keith remembers doing it with his dad, and if he squints hard, there is a fuzzy memory of being thrown in the air by a big man who he called uncle… back in the time before his side of the family and his uncles had lost touch. He sneaks an arm out of the nest to touch the deep, blood red leather saddle for the Enfield Bullet. Antok probably can still throw him in the air, and Keith doesn't know why didn’t get the family height gene, but there’s clearly no extra growth spurt showing up for him.

“So, one of my brothers got me a great shirt which I really can’t wear around the kids. Figured you guys might like it though.”

Keith’s eyes go wide. _tshiro_ has never appeared in a single video, not one, and Keith has watched and re-watched them all.

The camera swings in front of the mirror, the back of the phone case with its sparkly rainbow pop socket held in a familiar, long fingered hand. And then a body comes into view – broad shoulders, an impossibly trim waist, remarkably clean, pale skin – topped with a completely opaque weld mask. This one is red and blue and Keith cannot believe his crush is half dressed as Spiderman.

“What do you guys think? Pretty cool, right?”

The shirt is black and practically painted across _tshiro’s_ considerable musculature. Keith’s mouth goes dry instantly, and yet he’s drooling – he wants to lick the deep furrow between those plush pectorals. Across the black fabric is splashed white text and a stylised logo of a man in in a halo of sparks. The text reads:

****

Keith snorts, then bites his fist to hold back the wave of laughter which will surely attract his uncle’s attention or risk waking Kosmo. It is such an awful joke that it becomes wonderful. Keith is sure the comment section is going to be full of people more than happy to let _tshiro_ penetrate them. Keith doesn’t join them. The fact the guy would wear such a wonderfully awful shirt only strengthens his appeal.

“Apparently there was another option, but my twin talked him out of ‘let’s weld our parts together baby’ and thank fuck for that. I love my brothers, but ain’t nobody I wanna be with is gonna be impressed by that pick up line, right?”

Keith is fighting his giggles so hard he’s almost crying. _Tshiro’s_ brothers are clearly the right kind of siblings. Keith wonders what kind of gifts _tshiro_ bought for them. Irrationally, he knows they will have been sweet, thoughtful, generous. That’s just the kind of guy _tshiro_ is; Keith is sure of it.

A little while later, after taking Kosmo out for a stroll, Keith shows his new saddle to his modest tiktok following, and props the phone up as he fits it to the chassis. It’s not there permanently though, because an unexpected setback has ground all Keith’s progress to a halt.

“Looks good, right? I mean, at least from this side.” Keith walks around the Bullet whilst Kosmo sits and watches him, tilting his head and making one ear floppy in a way that will have the few comments being about his dog rather than his bike, Keith’s sure. “So, it’s pretty much finished now – except for the eventual paint job as you can see – and the fact that…. Look-” Keith points at the glaringly obvious hole in the fuel tank on the left side. “Look! Look at the fuel tank. I thought it was fine, and then I was sand blasting the rust with my uncle, and it just disintegrated right in front of me. We’ve checked the rest of the bike and it’s OK, but it just got really thin and wore through right here for some gods damn reason. I dunno. Maybe someone left it lying around under a really specific drip for the past fifty years.” Keith sighs heavily, and sits, reaching out for Kosmo’s extra soft ears. “I can do basic welds, like with the chassis and stuff, but nothing this fancy. Guess I’m stuck for now. I’m gonna have to search for someone with mad skills. Happy holidays guys, sorry for the random downer.”

Keith is only just unwinding his scarf from around his face when his phone chimes softly with a notification from his most used app. Keith gulps as he fishes the device from his pocket, because he only has audio notifications turned on for one account now. And it’s far too soon for tshiro be posting another video.

But it is a video. A private one. A message, just for Keith.

“Hey there, _KandK_rebuild_.” _tshiro’s_ finger even draws a little underscore across the screen when he pauses between the words. Keith grins – he’s such a dork. “I saw your update. Obviously. And I know before you’ve said you’re in Arizona. Well, me too.” There is a long sigh, the kind of one Keith makes when he has to psych himself up for something. “I know it’s a big state. Maybe it’ll be too far…. But I could totally fix that hole for you.” Pause. “I mean, the hole in the bike. Fuck. Fuck did I just actually say that? Damn.”

Keith giggles.

“Well, now you know I have an actual gutter brain.” _tshiro’s_ free hand shrugs. “Well, message me – or don’t – and if you don’t want to or I’m too far away, I’ll ring around and see if I can find you someone properly qualified to work on that beauty of yours with you. Red deserves the best. That’s a damn fine bike you got.”

Keith thinks he’s finished, but the video keeps playing. When _tshiro’s_ voice comes again, the sound is softer, lower, closer, and Keith shivers.

“Happy holidays K, you too Kosmo. Bye.”

Keith swallows the lump in his throat, drags the video back five seconds and lifts the phone to his ear. This time _tshiro’s_ voice is intimate, personal, and it sends shivers across his skin even as heat pools between his thighs.

“ _Happy holidays K, you too Kosmo. Bye.”_

*

Keith switches to whisking the pan of slowly thickening bechamel sauce with his other hand as his phone chimes for his attention. He tuts at Kosmo, as the wolf dog noses with intention at the large dish of browned, spiced ground beef ready to be assembled into the waiting lasagna dish.

There isn’t a new message waiting for him in his sparse, but very friendly private chat with _tshiro_ , but Keith’s favourite person he’s never met _has_ uploaded a new video on the first day of the year.

“No one is ever going to take me seriously at work ever again,” _tshiro_ starts, “and that’s not a bad thing. You think I should invest in a big rainbow backdrop for my workstation? Best not, doubt I could find a manufacturer who could make one up to the fireproof specs I’d need.”

The camera wobbles a bit as he pans over the workshop before setting the phone down on a stand. Keith frowns at the top half of a glossy photo calendar in the shot.

“So instead of the other terrible t-shirt, guess what my twin got me?” _tshiro_ can hardly keep from dissolving into mirth as he displays the Shirtless ‘Hot Rods’ calendar to his viewers. “I cannot imagine what was going through his mind. I mean, my twin is as straight as I am not… I get my kicks thinking about his face at the checkout.”

Keith rolls his eyes and snorts, then sets his phone down on the surface so that he can turn the heat off and grate some nice yellow cheddar into his finished sauce. _tshiro_ adjusts the camera angle as he begins to take them on a tour of overly sweaty – mostly naked – beefcakes pretending to weld. And doing it badly.

“Look at this dude!” _tshiro_ does not sound impressed. “I mean sure he has abs for days and maybe he can bench more than me, but his work clamp isn’t even attached to anything! There’s no circuit there! That’s not gonna weld! Pfft!” The pages flick by until they reach October, and the fall themed spread features a guy apparently welding the tail onto a large steel cat. The pointy ears are all that’s hiding the model’s intimate anatomy from view. “But this guy. He is the worst. The setup is fine, which means that the sparks you’re seeing there are real sparks… so where is his PPE? Dude’s not even wearing a proper mask. All he’s got are gloves – and I hope they put a fig leaf over his dick because I would not want a stray spark landing anywhere near me. Heck no.”

 _tshiro_ turns the calendar back to January, and puts a big sparkly pink X through the first day.

“Happy new year, Weld Cadets! Let’s make it a good one.”

Keith smiles, and finishes layering flat pasta sheets over the lasagna, before he starts to spread a layer of creamy bechamel. He taps the heart on the video with a clean finger.

“Happy new year buddy.”

Keith is fully aware he’s a hopeless case by now, but there’s no one to judge him but his dog.

*

Keith hugs Kosmo really hard around the neck, and makes sure that Antok has his fingers looped into the dog’s collar before he lets go.

“You be good now, OK Kos? Be good for me.”

“You’re driving a few hours across the state Kit, not going off to war.” Kolivan rolls his eyes and tugs the strap holding the Enfield Bullet onto the trailer: it is secure. “Stop snuggling with the hound and get on the road. You don’t want to be late for your date.”

“It’s not a date!” Keith ducks his head, hiding under his bangs and he feels his cheeks heat. “It’s a repair job.”

“Which is why you packed an overnight bag…” Antok says with a knowing smirk.

“Hey, Flagstaff is a cool city.” Keith glare at his uncles as he climbs into the truck. “It’s not illegal for me to go and have fun is it?”

“Absolutely not Kit.” Kolivan pats the door panel with a broad smile. “Go have all the fun you want. Drive safe, OK?”

“Call us when you get there!” Antok calls as Keith begins to pull out of the driveway. “We love you!”

Kosmo starts up a mournful howl, but even that and the engine noise is not enough to stop Keith from reading Kolivan’s lips as he loops an arm around his husband’s waist.

“I swear you’re worse than he is sometimes. Such a baby.”

“But you love him for it!” Keith hollers out of the window. He can only imagine his uncle’s laughter as they vanish from sight.

The truth is, Keith is kind of thinking about this trip like a date. He knows he shouldn’t, and he is fully prepared to be totally chill and professional when he gets to his destination. But as he drives, he remembers each of _tshiro’s_ messages – which have become both more frequent and more openly friendly since the new year – and he hopes. Keith drives across the state in the winter sunshine, fully expecting to have his heart stomped on.

*

When he pulls into the lot outside Nondescript Weld Shop, or Garrison Welding as it is properly known, Keith is almost disappointed not to find anyone waiting for him. A minute later he feels like a fool, because not only does _tshiro_ not know exactly when he is arriving, but also, the man has no idea what Keith looks like.

 _tshiro_ has posted a couple more private message videos since the first one, and Keith cherishes them all. But he’s never been brave enough to make one of his own, and though some of his body has appeared on his tiktok videos, his face never has.

Keith jumps down from the truck and goes searching for the world’s most openly queer welding specialist.

It does not take him long to find _tshiro_.

No one else has ever looked so good with dusty, rugged cotton work pants hugging their hips. No one else could possibly be rocking a bright pink henley – do they even make henelys in bright pink? – which appears to have been spray painted across the broadest shoulders Keith has ever seen. And no one else would be shaking their incredibly tight and perky ass to _Timber_ with all the gusto of one of Kesha’s go-go dancers.

Keith stares. _tshiro_ has the kind of shoulders to waist ratio only seen on comic book superheroes. His floppy black fringe falls over his eyes as he swings by his lectern with a little hip shimmy and Keith is captivated by the view in profile of his strong jaw high, sharp cheekbones. His lips move with the lyrics, soft and plush where they come together on the second syllable of the title, and as he grabs up a small hammer to become an impromptu microphone, Keith sees the faded scar which nicks the bridge of his nose. It doesn’t make him any less beautiful – if anything it’s the opposite – because suddenly _tshiro_ with his inclusive pride stickers, his medical bracelet, and his muscles, is real and right here. Keith grabs for the nearest wall, he thinks he might faint.

“Can I help you?” An older man with one good eye and a grizzled expression asks him. “What are you here for, son?”

“Him.” Keith groans, unable to find a reasonable pitch for his voice. “I’m here for him.”

“Oi! Shiro!” Keith blinks – and he thought Kolivan could shout loudly, but this guy has a voice like a thunderbolt – and _tshiro_ turns and drops the hammer down to his side as the call interrupts his song. “Client for you!” He turns to Keith. “You go ahead.”

Keith weaves his way between equipment rigs as he heads towards the man who has now turned to watch him head on. The weld shop is fairly quiet at the moment, and Keith makes sure not to touch anything until he reaches a familiar workspace festooned with colourful stickers. Iron Man sits next to Spiderman on top of the tool cabinet.

“Well, hey there.”

“Hey. I’m Keith.”

“ _Keith_ …” Shiro’s voice is as warm and all-encompassing as his handshake, and Keith wants to listen to his name in that voice forever and ever. He loves that voice, and it takes a concerted effort to stop himself from his falling into the figure before him. “I’ve been wondering what the other K stood for. I’m Shiro.” There is a pause. “And I’m up here.”

Keith blushes – caught staring at the vast, firm expanse of Shiro’s chest – but he shoots Shiro a grin regardless.

“I can see that. And can I say, I’m almost disappointed not to find you wearing the shirt your brother got you?”

This time, it’s Shiro’s cheeks which pink up. The shade doesn’t quite match his shirt, but Keith will take the win.

“I was so hoping for more puns.”

Shiro produces a breathless laugh, and his grey eyes sparkle. Keith is fairly certain he’s making a good first impression, because Shiro leans against his tool bench – the muscles of his arm bugling obscenely as he does so – and his grin broadens. His teeth are so white and shiny. Keith wants to lick them.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Shiro does not look sorry at all. “I mean, I could tell you a good welding joke-” He pauses, for effect. “But all the good ones _argon_.”

Shiro completes the hand motions for the classic drum sting which traditionally accompanies a one-liner, and Keith loses it. He clamps an arm over his belly, bending almost in half as he laughs so hard he can’t breathe. Only when he is practically hyperventilating does Keith put a hand out to beg for mercy from the worst pun he has ever heard, and jerks upright in surprise when Shiro’s big, strong fingers wrap around his forearm.

“Please don’t die.”

Keith hauls himself upright and matches Shiro’s hold. He squeezes Shiro’s arm appreciatively, and arches an eyebrow as his gaze slides deliberately over to the stand where Shiro’s welding torch hangs.

“Well… don’t you know just how make a guy _melt_.”

Shiro snorts like he might have just swallowed his own tongue, and even the tips of his ears go red.

“Oh my god. That was awful.”

“Thank you.” Keith grins broadly. “I promise I did not spend most of yesterday evening looking up welding puns before I left.”

Shiro shakes his head in despair.

“We’ll pretend I believe you. So, where’s this beautiful motorcycle of yours then?”

Keith is overly aware of how close Shiro follows him as they make their way out toward the truck and trailer. It’s like he can feel the heat of the man shimmering in the chill air between them as they unstrap the bike and roll it down off the trailer together.

“Keith… she’s a beaut.”

“Ain’t she?” Keith hooks his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans as he watches Shiro surveying his bike.

Shiro’s hands caress the metal that Keith has sanded, smoothed, and polished and Keith finds himself actually jealous of his own bike. And then Shiro gets around to the other side to see the hole in the tank. He’s seen it on the tiktok vid, but apparently the effect in real life is still plenty shocking.

“ _What_ -” Shiro’s voice hits a pitch Keith had no idea a guy Shiro’s size could access, “-did you DO?!”

“It was just-”

“Oh, poor sweet baby girl,” Shiro croons over the bike and Keith cannot help but seethe. “Was Daddy too rough with you?”

Keith makes a noise he’s not proud of. Sounds like when Kosmo eats too fast and regrets it instantly.

“Don’t worry, beautiful-” It’s an act, surely. He’s got to be putting it on. No one’s is capable of being _that_ emotionally invested in a bike they’ve only just met. “-I’m gonna sort you right out. I’ve got just the right sized rod to plug that hole.”

A whale dying on the beach sounds better than Keith does right now. Shiro looks up over the fuel tank and arches an eyebrow at him.

“We welders have the hottest rods, don’t you know?” He straightens up, and Shiro’s voice drops back into its usual register. “OK, I can fix this no problem. You staying around to watch?”

It takes Keith two full minutes to recover. All his blood is at either end of his body and it’s making it hard to think and breathe at the same time. He wheels Red into the shop and parks her in Shiro’s workspace, then reaches into his pocket for the tools he needs to release the fuel tank from the chassis.

“How come you brought the whole bike if the tank comes off? You didn’t have to bring the trailer.”

Keith shrugs as he works, slipping the holding screws into his pocket because he doesn’t dare put anything small down now, not after losing an essential washer for which there was no easy replacement a few weeks previously. It turned up with Kosmo, as all things eventually do.

“After the fuel tank is fixed, she’s technically rideable – though not pretty – and you guys have nice scenery out here. I thought I might take her for her first spin in sixty years.” Keith finally hands the fuel tank over to Shiro, and he does not miss the way the other man’s fingers brush his when he takes it. “So, I really get to watch?”

Shiro inhales deeply, like there’s some scent in the air he wants more of, and Keith steps back when he realises how close together they are standing. He doesn’t want to be in the way.

“Yeah, you can watch. You’ll have to wear a mask – we wouldn’t want to damage those beautiful eyes of yours.”

Keith gulps. He’s being flirted with. Despite his uncle’s worst fears, even Keith’s not stupid enough to miss this many hints. Shiro scoops up both of the masks Keith has seen on Shiro’s tiktok videos.

“So, who do you want to be, pretty boy?”

Keith drags a fingertip across the patterned visor of first Iron Man and then Spiderman, and grins.

“Depends, how keen are you to see me in spandex?”

Shiro grunts, like Keith just hit him in the chest, and thrusts the newer Spiderman welding mask at him. He mutters something which feel like a profanity but isn’t, and Keith secures the straps around the back of his head whilst Shiro begins to set up. He fastens his work clip in place – the thing which will complete the electrical circuit when he begins to weld and actually allow the alloy rod to melt and fuse metal to metal – and turns back to Keith.

“Don’t touch the table, OK?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Shiro rolls his eyes.

“Iron Man and Captain America are not interchangeable, Keith.”

Kith feels his heart thud hard against his ribs. Shiro is sexy and confident _and_ a total dork. He’s perfect.

“Should I just say _‘yes, sir’_ then?”

“ _Oh fuck…_ ” Shiro breathes.

Keith leans back against the chassis of his bike, making sure he’s in a good position to watch Shiro work.

Watching welding is sort of awkward, because although Shiro flips his own visor up and down as he checks on the progress, the individual movements are so fast that Keith doesn’t dare do the same and risk having his visor up when the arc is on. But with it down, everything is black, and Keith can’t see a damn thing. But it’s still kind of fascinating and exciting as Shiro pulls the trigger and bright white sparks – dimmed to yellow by the specially coated lens in front of him – crackle into view.

“Enjoying yourself there, Keith?” Shiro asks him during a moment between short bursts of welding.

“Yes. It’s really cool. Thank you for letting me stick around.” The last thing he wants to be seen as is ungrateful.

“I don’t often get an audience.” Shiro inhales, and Keith can practically see him smile. He wants to taste it. “After all, it’s not like I do anything _riveting_.”

“Ba-dum tisssh!” Keith responds without missing a beat, complete with hand movements to cross over for the high-hat, and the pair of them dissolve into giggles.

*

“Evening Weld Cadets!” Shiro gives his viewers a thumbs up. “So today I have an actual… are we going to call you an assistant?”

Shiro spins the camera to Keith, who drops his tinted visor before he appears in the shot and shrugs.

“I dunno, am I useful?”

Shiro snorts.

“He’s good to look at least, right people?”

Keith is very glad no one can see him blush, including Shiro.

“This is K, from _KandK_rebuild._ Say hi K.”

Keith waves, feeling like an idiot. He knows the only reason he agreed to do this is because he would do anything Shiro asked him. With his boyish, earnest smile and perfectly terrible sense of humour, he is impossible to say no to. He raises the mask as Shiro turns back to the workbench.

“We’re working on his fuel tank today. Just a little bit more welding to do, and then it’s time to grind.” The camera shakes slightly, and Keith giggles.

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You actually do a little dance every time you say that.” Keith bites his lip to try and hold back the mirth. “I’ve been trying to work out why your phone shakes whenever you say you’re going to _grind_ something. And it’s because-” Keith shimmies his hips in an approximation of the libido-inspiring movement Shiro just made. “-you do a sexy little dance every time.”

“I do?” Shiro’s phone hangs loose in his hand, and Keith is fairly certain this video is not going to be suitable for public consumption, even with heavy editing.

“Yup.” Keith swivels his hips again. “You do.”

Shiro’s cheeks go pink.

“Yeah, but I don’t look like _that_ when I do it.”

“No. You look better.”

“Keith.” Shiro places a hand over his chest, and Keith once more wonders what it would be like to just dive head first into those plush pecs. “Ohh...”

Shiro returns to talking to his camera, and Keith positions himself to one side as the man lifts a hunk of scrap steel with one hand. He uses it to prop the rounded and awkward shape of the fuel tank into a better position for the last part of the weld before he hefts the welding torch. His bicep bulges and this time Keith’s suggestive imagination gets the better of his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s hot…”

To his surprise, Shiro panics and drops the torch.

“Oh no, did I burn you with-” he pauses, and Keith smirks. “...I haven’t even started yet. It’s not on.”

“No, Shiro. It’s not on.” Keith decides to just dive right in and commit to his thirst. “But you’re still really hot.”

“Keith…”

“Please let me take you for a ride tomorrow?” Keith blurts the question, hoping his expression reads more like urgency and keenness, and less like horny desperation. Thing is, it’s not even just that he’s horny. He likes everything about Shiro, from his voice to his terrible puns to his defiant, proud attitude about his sexuality. The beatific smile and the muscles are just icing on the cake.

Shiro pauses, his eyes soft, and then he nods.

“Yeah Keith. I’d really like that.”

Shiro finishes welding and begins to clear away the bench in order to set up for the grinding which is to follow. Keith traces his fingers over the stripes of the nearest pride sticker, and dons the protective face shield which Shiro hands to him, although this one is not heavily tinted and he can still see.

“It’s good to see that you take the safety of your clients so seriously, Shiro.”

“I couldn’t possible risk making Kosmo sad by hurting his person now, could I?”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“I knew you only followed me for my dog.” He shakes his head. “Everyone does you know. That video has like triple the views of any of the others.”

“Kosmo is… an added bonus of your account.” Shiro smiles softly and offers his hand to Keith, palm up. Keith takes it without question. “I like how committed you are to your project. And how conscious you are of every little detail. Like all those screws? Watching you take each of them out and clean and re grease everything was super soothing.”

Keith is sure Shiro must be able to hear the way his heart starts to thunder around in his chest. He can’t deal with the man _looking_ at him like that and _saying_ those things and being so _sincere_ all at the same time.

“T-thank you,” he stammers, wondering where his confidence has vanished to.

“Do you want to come give it a try, Keith?” Shiro gestures to the angle grinder.

Keith blinks, then let’s his gaze travel across Shiro’s broad chest and abs of steel to his crotch. The number of jokes he could make about hot _rods_ almost make him dizzy, but they’re not welding any more.

“Will you do the grinding dance again?”

Shiro twists his hips, just once, and Keith feels his own cock twitch helpfully in the confines of his tight jeans. He’s been half-chubbed for hours.

“Maybe. Why don’t you come find out?”

So, Keith stands in front of Shiro’s workbench with the _polyhammery_ to his left and lifts the angle grinder. It is a far heavier duty model than the one he has used for minor jobs back home, and he needs both hands, locking his elbows to his sides as he considers where he might start. He wants to look competent in front of Shiro, but he also doesn’t want to risk fucking up the lovely weld the man has just made for him.

“Here, I don’t want you to hurt yourself. It vibrates really hard.” Shiro’s voice is low and soft, and then his beefy arms are coming up around Keith’s own. “Let me just stand behind you so I can be sure you have the perfect position, OK?”

“OK,” Keith breathes.

Shiro shuffles his feet a moment, and then Keith nearly jolts out of his skin as _all_ of Shiro presses up against his back. And it really is all of him – the girth of his thighs, the ridges of his perfect abs, the pillowy mounds of his chest – and the thick, hard, hot length of an erection which is proportional to the rest of Shiro, has Keith’s head spinning just a little bit.

Keith is sure he is breathing and moving and making appropriate noises, but he’s aware of none of these things. Nothing exists other than the sheer size of Shiro’s hands half covering his own as he caresses Keith’s wrists. There is no sensation which could be better than Shiro’s soft, moist breath against the back of his neck. And then Shiro makes a little noise which Keith just knows is the verbal equivalent of a smirk.

“Ready to _grind,_ baby?”

And it would be cheesy as hell, except that he _does_ the hip shimmy, and feeling the motion of Shiro’s well-endowed length pushing against his ass is _very_ different from just seeing the man dance. Keith removes one hand from the angle grinder and makes a deliberate grab for Shiro’s ass. Shiro yelps in surprise, but Keith doesn’t move.

“Please tell me you did that on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good.” Keith squeezes appreciatively. “You grind. I’ll just stay right here and ride it out.”

This time, Keith feels Shiro’s smirk against his hair. It makes him want to turn around and taste those lips for himself, but he doesn’t want to move just yet. He knows another pun is coming.

“Well then, let’s make sparks fly.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a dork.”

“Thank you.” Shiro replies with another little hip swagger. “You got your face shield on?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good Keith…” Keith shudders at the croon in his ear, heat uncoiling down his spine to pool in the pit of his stomach. “Can’t have you burning those pretty lips, or how am I gonna kiss you later?”

Keith practically swoons.

Watching Shiro work from within the circle of his arms is both the most fascinating and the most distracting thing Keith has ever witnessed. Shiro moves with such competence, sure and certain of every movement, and Keith doesn't ever feel unsafe. The few sparks which land on him are deflected by his jeans and leather jacket, but the way Shiro works keeps most of them spraying out to Keith’s right side. Little by little the new welded patch on the fuel tank becomes smooth, bright, and seamless with the rest of the metal Keith has already spent so long sanding. It’s glorious.

Even more glorious is the heat seeping through his jacket and jeans, and the constricting squeeze as Shiro crosses as arm over him to grind harder on his left, pinning Keith ever more firmly against his chest. Keith can’t help but revel in the contact, but he doesn’t interfere, keeping one hand on the angle grinder under Shiro’s guiding hand, the other firmly on Shiro’s very sculpted ass. If it wasn’t for the warmth and the shifting muscles under his palm, Keith would swear the man is carved from marble.

“That looks really good, Shiro.”

“Yeah?” In between bursts of sparks from the grinder, Shiro ducks a little bit, enough that his breath ghosts over Keith’s cheek. “Glad you think so.”

Keith gets distracted by the click of Shiro’s throat as he swallows, and he turns in his own footprints until both his hands are resting on Shiro’s firm pecs. He squishes them.

“Something you want, little kitten?”

“Oh, most certainly.” Keith sighs happily, and continues to knead at Shiro’s chest. “You about done there, big guy?”

“Mmm hmmm.” Behind Keith, there is a thunk as Shiro puts the angle grinder down fully. “All finished. Looks like you and Red will get to go on that ride tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna look great on my pillion seat, Shiro. I’m betting you’ll fit fine perched on that fantastic ass of yours.”

Shiro blushes, but the reaction isn’t enough to make him shy, and Keith makes a sharp yip as he’s caught off guard by Shiro scooping him up from the floor. The size difference between them snaps into sharp focus as Keith clings to Shiro’s pink henley for balance. Shiro’s big hands span the whole of his backside – apparently with enough space left to wrap his thumbs around the points of Keith’s hipbones. Keith files the feeling away for some future point where he can relieve it in private, and purrs as Shiro turns them both and places Keith over his lap as he settles onto the high stool that sits by his workbench.

“I don’t think you’ll need your visor any more Keith.”

“Mmm… you neither.” Keith flips his face mask up and plucks Shiro’s off his head too and hooks them both over the corner of the lectern. “Please, tell me I get to kiss you now?”

“I mean… if that’s _all_ you wanna do…” Shiro sounds just as smug as he looks.

Keith can’t help the half-grin, half-gasp which escapes him, and switches his hold to secure his balance on Shiro’s belt buckle. His fingers curl under the waistband of the thick work trousers and the smooth texture of Shiro’s skin has his pulse thundering in his ears.

“Careful kitten, my rod is hot.”

Keith very nearly spits in Shiro’s face, and ends up with his forehead thudding into Shiro’s sternum. He groans, but it’s not because he’s finally getting the pleasure of smushing his face into Shiro’s pecs.

“Oh my god.”

“Keith?”

“This would never work if I wasn’t already so into you.” Keith jerks up to look at Shiro, and preens as thick fingers slide through his hair. “But I’m _so_ into you.”

“I really hoped you were gonna say that. I want that kiss now, please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shiro shifts a little to the left, Keith tilts right, Shiro’s hand cups his jaw, Keith spreads his fingers over Shiro’s pec, moulding the flesh with his palm, and their lips slide together. Shiro’s lips are sweet and soft, yielding to the pressure of Keith’s tongue as he deepens the kiss. Shiro groans against him, Keith presses closer – pinning his own arm between them as he does – and loses himself in the best first kiss he’s ever had. Heck, it’s the best kiss he’s ever had of any kind. Shiro is hot and hard everywhere they touch and Keith never wants to move.

Which doesn’t mean he’s happy with the amount of clothes they are still wearing.

“Arms up,” Keith mutters the moment they break in order to breathe oxygen instead of each other. “I wanna see what I’m feeling under this spray-painted shirt.”

“I should have worn the ‘penetrate in all positions’ one, huh?” Shiro chuckles.

“Unless it’s for safety reasons, I don’t think you should ever be dressed again.” Keith pulls the fabric loose from Shiro’s trousers and pushes it up over each wonderful bump of his gym-perfect abs. When his thumb drags over Shiro’s nipple the bigger man jerks into the touch and things get hotter in Keith’s lap too. “You’re really fucking beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The hands squeezing his ass continue to grope him, but Shiro’s voice and his eyes are brimming with honesty. “If I’d have known my puns were gonna turn you on, I’d have _fired them up_ sooner.”

Keith huffs a laugh against Shiro’s open mouth.

“That was terrible.”

“Forgive me, it’s hard to think with a super-hot guy writhing in my lap.”

Keith pouts. “I ain’t writhing.”

Shiro arches an eyebrow at him, and in the space of half a heartbeat Keith finds that the fly of his jeans is no longer giving him any modestly. Shiro is dexterous with those big fingers. Keith moans.

“Well, if you aren’t writhing yet, shouldn’t we fix that?”

“Oh, fuck-”

Keith dives back into Shiro’s mouth, grabbing at his chest and shoulders, dragging his fingers through the short buzz of Shiro’s dark undercut whilst he fights with the stud opening of Shiro’s work pants. Shiro divests Keith of his clothes with apparent ease, keeping him firmly seated in his lap with one hand all the while. Keith whines in frustration at the lack of kissing as his shirt is pulled off over his head, and then gasps when Shiro’s mouth fixes over his nipple rather than his lips. Shiro is a man of his word, and by the time Keith is writhing, the other man is wearing claws marks over his back.

“S-sorry,” Keith pants as Shiro meets his eyes again.

Shiro nips at his lower lip, then dips down to lap across the sensitive nub again.

“Don’t be. I like it.”

“Fuck. How are you even real?” Keith finally gets through the barrier of Shiro’s clothes and wraps his hand around the same muscle that was grinding against him earlier. His fingers only just meet around the girth. “Holy… _Shiro_.”

“Yeah?” Shiro actually sounds like he’s a little unsure if Keith’s reaction is a good thing or not.

“I am surely hallucinating or something, and that’s totally fine. I am very happy to live in dream land as long as you’re here with me.” Keith licks his lips as he stares and the way Shiro’s foreskin slides over the smooth head of his cock when he pumps his fist slowly along the length. “Yes, yes you should be taking that as a compliment.”

A noise from somewhere across the room, makes him jolt almost out of Shiro’s lap, and only a quick grab saves him from crashing to the floor. They are – of course – still in the weld shop, and though no one is super close by, the place isn’t deserted either.

To Keith’s surprise, Shiro uses the extra distance between them to yank Keith’s jeans and underwear down to his thighs. Keith’s cock springs up to slap him in the stomach.

“Mmm… one day, I wanna wrap my lips around that and worship you.”

Keith turns the same approximate shade as his new motorcycle saddle.

“Come sit in my lap kitten? I promise to be real good to you.”

“You always have sex in your shop?” Keith asks, but he slides himself a little closer regardless. An arm looping around the back of Shiro’s neck – fingers combing through his soft hair – brings their faces to a deliciously intimate distance.

“Never. But I’m willing to break all the rules for you.” Shiro’s fingers slide over the curve of his hip, dipping into the crease between his cheeks. “Keith… fuck…”

“Yes, please.” Keith never figured he would be so willing to have sex in – what is at least technically – public, but he can’t think of a single thing Shiro might suggest that he wouldn’t happily do. Except one thing. “You’re not using motor grease on me.”

Shiro chuckles.

“I have other lube.”

Keith kisses across Shiro’s cheekbone then nibbles on his ear as he is kept in place with a big hand groping shamelessly across his ass whilst Shiro retrieves the lube without standing up.

“I wanna ask why you keep lube in your tool store, but I’m kind of afraid to.”

Shiro smirks.

“I said I’d never had sex here, not that I’d never jerked off in the shop.”

Keith gapes at him.

“You kinky bastard.”

“Guilty as charged. C’mere, kitten.”

Keith kisses him, deepening the motion immediately, intent on tasting Shiro’s tongue and stifling both their groans as lube slick fingers swirl over his hole. He winds his fingers into Shiro’s bangs and pulls his head back in order to lick up the column of his throat.

“You know you’re not gonna fit, right? And we don’t exactly have time for lengthy prep right now.”

Shiro moans, colour high on his cheeks, but he still presses the tip of one wet digit into Keith’s body. Keith practically sees the room get brighter as his pupils dilate.

“Holy fuck- Keith. God, I’ll take whatever you’ll let me have. Please.”

Keith purrs. “Again.”

“ _Please_.” Shiro grins, emboldened by Keith’s reaction. “Please, kitten. Please let me fuck you?”

Keith gasps as Shiro begins to pump his fingertip through the tight ring of muscle, pleasure replacing pain as his body adjusts to the pressure. When Shiro returns with more lube, Keith grinds down to feel the heavy heat of Shiro’s cock brushing the curve of his ass.

“Just the tip. Think of it as a warm up.”

“Fuck-” Shiro sounds breathless and half wrecked already. “You’re so fucking sexy. I’m such a lucky guy.”

Keith has to hold himself up off Shiro’s lap then, keeping focus on remaining balanced and upright as Shiro smears more lube over his hole, more over his own cock, and then the big man grips himself tight in one large hand so that the tip bumps against Keith’s opening.

“Mmmm… good boy.” Keith has the pleasure of watching Shiro blush. “Stay right there, OK?”

“Yes, Keith.”

Keith leans in to kiss him, and thrusts his tongue into Shiro’s mouth at the same moment as he seats himself on the man’s cock. He doesn’t cry out, but only because Shiro is kissing him back, and for a few painful seconds Keith wonders why on earth he ever thought he could do this without any kind of real prep. Shiro is girthy, even at the tip, and Keith forces himself to relax and bear down on the hard length beneath him until there is a pop of pressure as the head of Shiro’s cock finally penetrates him. He hovers there, resisting the urge to move, and groans into Shiro again as the man begins to use both hands to fully appreciate his ass. Keith is grateful for the additional support.

“Knew you’d be able to lift me easily.”

“Just wait until round two, kitten. Gonna hold you up against the wall and fuck you senseless.”

Keith arches an eyebrow at him as the pain recedes, overtaken by the wash of lust from Shiro’s mental imagery.

“So, I don’t get a bed until what, round three?”

“You think you can go for three rounds with me?” Shiro scoffs.

Keith grins and licks his teeth. Shiro’s eyes track the motion, his own lips kiss bruised, parted, damp.

“We’ll see who begs to stop first,” Keith offers, “but I’m betting it’s gonna be you.”

“Nnghh!” Shiro makes a bitten back kind of growl, and Keith feels the other man shift beneath him.

“Uh-uh.” Keith weaves his fingers into Shiro’s inky-black floof and yanks his head back. “Don’t you dare move. I have to ride that bike tomorrow.”

“Fuck-” Shiro gasps. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Keith bites his lip and clenches around the tip of Shiro’s massive cock. The sensation is near-overwhelming, wonderful, heady. Keith sinks down a little way, just the smallest fraction, and groans against Shiro’s jaw as the other man splits him open. He feels stretched in the very best way, and the pain slips back – small, manageable, easy to ignore – as Shiro helps to pull his cheeks apart to ease the passage of his cock as Keith begins to roll his hips.

He almost can’t wait to have the whole of Shiro inside him, but the tease is so exquisite. And as a clang comes from somewhere else across the shop, Keith knows they need to be quick. Keith slides both arms over Shiro’s shoulders, basically hugging his head to his chest, and Keith stifles his moans into Shiro’s silky soft hair as his motions drags his own cock over the well-defined ridges of Shiro’s abs.

And then Shiro licks over Keith’s nipple, and he yowls.

“Sensitive, kitten?”

“Fuck-”

Keith jolts in his lap as Shiro repeats the motion, and the broad ridge of Shiro’s cockhead pulls back through his rim. Keith pants and mourns the loss, but only for a moment because Shiro takes the opportunity to bite Keith’s perk nipple. Keith impales himself again on Shiro’s cock, deeper, hands tightening in Shiro’s hair as he locks his jaw to keep from screaming.

“Yeah… Keith-” Shiro moans, mouthing at his chest, the scrape of his teeth a sharp counterpoint to the wet lapping of his tongue. Keith whimpers. He wants to blame his sudden rush of sensitivity on the situation, the precarious nature of the way they are fucking in an open space in an obvious manner, but Keith knows the truth is just that he’s really into Shiro. He has been for many months.

“Shiro…” Keith rolls his hips faster, all the muscles of his core tightening as pleasure rises up through him. He feels desperate, hot, sweaty. Everything outside of his immediate vision is blurry, but Shiro’s bright eyes and his dark, soft bangs and pink cheeks are sharp as razorblades. “Shiro-!”

“Yeah, that’s it, kitten. Take it.” Shiro ducks down, leaving Keith to wind scrabbling fingers into his hair as he bites once more – hard, almost punishingly so – over Keith’s nipple. “Take what you need.”

Keith bucks in his lap, pulling himself from Shiro’s cock to produce a broken gasp from the other man, and splatters his orgasm across those fantastic, heaving abs. He crashes his lips against Shiro’s, dropping into his lap, and Shiro’s cock rubs against his taint, the wet tip skidding along the hypersensitive flesh of his own cock. Keith growls into the kiss and wraps his fingers around Shiro’s cock.

He is suddenly aware of the fact that he is still wearing his fingerless gloves.

“Keith-” Shiro pants against his mouth and Keith licks into him without delay as he begins to pump the tumescent flesh in his grasp. “Kei-”

“Yeah. Yeah, c’mon big boy.” Keith grins, all teeth, and nips at Shiro’s lower lip as he gasps openly. “Make a mess of me.”

“Fu- Fuck! Keith-”

And _oh_ , Shiro is loud with his groan – Keith feels it vibrate through his chest – and he sinks himself into the kiss as Shiro’s hot come paints messy stripes across his belly. He swallows every shudder the bigger man makes until Shiro is kissing him back with both hands in Keith’s hair.

Their eyes meet, and Keith has never seen a brighter smile.

“Hey.”

“Hey… _wow_. Keith….”

“Wow, yourself Shiro.” Keith pecks him on the lips, quick and chaste and delicious. “So, round two…” His heart is still pounding, but Keith refuses to drag his mind away from his libido now. “Which wall did you have in mind?”

“My place is actually not that far away and really nice?” Shiro sounds just as breathless as Keith feels, but he’s beaming.

“Oh really?” Keith arches an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah. Clean and everything. Fridge even has beer and snacks and there’s a bunch of takeout menus?”

“But is it papered with _very gay_ stickers?”

Shiro arches his own eyebrow.

“You wanna come find out?”

Keith grinds against him. He’s not fully hard again, but it won’t be long.

“Yes, please.”

Another clang of steel – this one closer to them. Keith glances around, most people aren’t even looking their way, though the guy who let him appears to be frowning as he scans the shop. Keith drops his lips back to Shiro’s and groans with unabashed joy against his mouth as their hot, tacky skin rubs together.

He’ll be leaving with stains on his shirt, but he cannot bring himself to care.

Keith knows it is ridiculous, but he can't help himself.

He knows that you cannot fall in lust or love or whatever kind of infatuation this is after one afternoon, one round of fucking excellent sex, and two dozen terrible welding puns with a guy who he – technically – barely knows.

But he has.

*

They don’t make it to a bed until round four, because after Shiro pulls up in his driveway, Keith gets on his knees and sucks the man’s soul out through his cock with three fingers buried up to the knuckle in Shiro’s ass. Afterwards, Shiro fucks Keith – just as promised – up against the wall so hard Keith is fairly certain he has ascended to another plane of existence.

Shiro does indeed have beer and takeout menus, and they feed each other spicy chips and salsa whilst waiting for pizza to arrive.

The pizza goes cold whilst Keith allows himself to be taken apart, whilst pillowed upon Shiro’s excellent mattress. Cold pizza is still good.

*

Three days later when Keith drives home with his not quite fully restored vintage motorcycle, he does not go alone.

*

“Hey, babe!” The video stream from _weld_and_grind_ moves with Keith as he walks through from the bedroom to the garage. Kosmo comes running into the shot, tongue lolling, and Keith pauses briefly to ruffle his enormous ears before continuing. “Your brother sent presents in the mail again!”

“Oooh! Did I get anything fun?”

Keith sniggers. He knows it can be heard on the video.

He stops at the full-length mirror in the hallway, the one where the frame is covered in Shiro’s inclusive pride stickers. The shot shows him from the neck down, and Keith pulls the hem of the long sleeve lightweight work-shirt down to give a good view of the design. Emblazoned across the chest is a grey and white image of a person in welding gloves and face mask, the arc shown in graphic white spikes as they weld. Below, are the words which make Keith grin.

I’d Tack That

Keith flips up the hem of the shirt to show off the fact that – other than a pair of red satin-y textured boxer shorts – it is all he is wearing.

“I’m pretty sure he sent it for you.” The sleeves practically drape over the tips of his fingers. “But I think it looks better on me.”

Keith keeps the shot angled so that the blinding brightness of the arc isn’t going to hurt any of the viewers, and waits for Shiro to finish working on the chassis of the extremely nice sixty-seven Shelby Mustang they have up on the ramp.

“The double height garage has come in mighty handy of late.” Keith pans across the car, because there is always time to pause and appreciate the utter beauty of such a machine. “Turns out having a welder for a boyfriend is kind of useful.”

“Oh, so I’m only good when I’m making spark- what are you wearing?”

The camera wiggles from side to side, because Keith is doing the little swivel with his hips that he knows he can blame Shiro for. He never used to dance before.

“Your brother sent it. What do you think?”

The camera blurs and the screen ends up on its side. The view is enough to capture Keith being half-lowered and half-pushed to the ground, Shiro rucking up the brand-new shirt and pressing his face into Keith’s lower belly.

“Mmm… good shirt.”

“It’s a terrible shirt.”

“But you love my puns!”

Keith jerks his hips up into the weight of Shiro pinning him down, and reaches over to the phone to kill the video. He’s going to have to do some serious editing regardless, but he doesn’t need to record what he’s going to say next. He has standards. Keith threads his fingers through Shiro’s hair, loving the way his boyfriend groans against his skin, lips already moving with intent.

“Well then big guy, you wanna fuse our parts together or what?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please come chat with us on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SashaDistan)
> 
> This author responds to comments.
> 
> Thank you to the incredible [Lole](https://twitter.com/@leandralena) for being an awesome beta reader.


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